


Just a Bite

by unsettled



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Hand Feeding, Kinktober, M/M, Slight hand kink, Teasing, care and feeding of Tony Stark, slight dom!peter?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: It’s not a kink that Peter actually likes it when Tony eats things from his hand! That’s not actually a thing, is it?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 130
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Just a Bite

It started so simply.

It started because Tony was being an ass.

"Look," Peter says. "I know you're busy, I know you have to finish this, I know it isn't something I can help with much. I get it, Tony."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I also know you haven't eaten anything in at least eight hours," Peter snaps. "And— don't even, I know you have not been getting smoothies from Dum-e! Whenever you finally decide you're done here, you're going to be cranky and complain about your headache and your stomach and it's all going to be because you wouldn't fucking eat something."

He slams the plate down in front of Tony and glares. This is so stupid. He doesn't  _ want  _ to be pestering Tony about this, but he doesn't want to keep putting up with these hypoglycemic fits either.

"Can't," Tony says, giving him a sidelong glance, and— is he smirking? Does he think this is funny? "My hands are full."

They are, and they're both covered in something grayish black that looks slick, but— 

Peter picks up the sandwich—the stupid sandwich he'd made because it was Tony's favorite kind, that he'd even cut in fourths in hopes he could Tony to eat part of it, like an idiot—and sticks it in front of Tony’s face. "Then aren't you lucky I'm here," he tells Tony.

Tony looks at him again, and hesitates, like he's getting the sense that Peter is not giving up this time. He doesn't even know why Tony does this.

"Eat. The. Damn. Sandwich." Peter hisses, shoving it closer to Tony's mouth.

"I'm doing this under duress," Tony says, but he takes a bite. Even if he rolls his eyes doing so and keeps working, Peter will take it.

*

They get though the whole sandwich.

*

Tony's never quite such an ass about it again, but he still doesn't seem to remember that bodies need fuel when he's deep in the middle of something. Peter tries not to make a nuisance of himself, but he keeps at it, keeps bringing Tony food when he can. Tries not to make it too pointed when he takes a break and gets takeout and brings it back with him, because that's more likely to catch Tony's attention.

But sometimes Tony really is elbow deep in something and will be for a while, and when that happens... Peter doesn't mind feeding Tony that much. It's the most reliable method of getting him to eat before he's crankier, and after— after, Peter feels better. Feels like he's accomplished something, however small.

Feels like he's done something good for Tony, even taken care of him, sort of.

*

It becomes a habit.

Tony makes a bit of a joke of it sometimes, demanding that Peter feed him whatever is there even if he really could do it himself, when he isn't that messy or that involved. "It just tastes better that way," Tony tells him smugly, batting his eyelashes outrageously.

"You just like being spoiled," Peter says, and doesn't really think about the way Tony almost startles at that until much later.

When Tony doesn't  _ need _ Peter to feed him, when he has that extra time and that extra attention span, he sort of... makes a thing out of it. Peter doesn't know quite how to explain it, how to point out just what is different, but it is. It's something about the way Tony looks at him when he's taking a bite from Peter's fingers. Something about the way he ducks his head a little more as he does so, the way his lips brush against Peter's fingers more often, maybe even the way he'll sometimes lick Peter, quick and teasing, grinning when Peter makes a face at him.

It's something, and Peter isn't quite sure when this slid into a thing that creeps into his fantasies. Doesn't know quite what to do the first time he finishes feeding Tony a couple handfuls of some gross looking organic superfood trail mix stuff and realizes he's at least half hard.

Ignoring it seems like an option.

*

The problem is, it’s a habit.

Habit means Peter doesn't always think about it, about the fact that if he has food and he wants to be sure Tony will eat some, he'll at least attempt to feed Tony a bit. Habit means it isn’t restricted to the workshop anymore, not once he'd discovered it's just as effective when Tony's about to head off without anything more than several cups of coffee in him.

Habit means that when he curls up next to Tony on the sofa with his book, Peter doesn't even notice that he's offered Tony one of his cookies, despite the fact that Tony's eaten recently. Doesn't even notice that he doesn't let go when Tony goes to take it. Doesn't even notice when Tony lets him keep hold and takes delicate little bites instead, not until Tony's down to his fingers, lips soft against them, and Peter's getting hard again.

"Peter."

"Mmm?"

"Were you planning on telling me at some point?" Tony says, and he sounds amused.

"Um," Peter says, looking up. "Tell you what?"

"That this whole 'you have to eat more' thing is a cover for your little hand feeding kink."

Peter stares at him. "What?" he says, and it comes out in almost a squeak.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Tony says, and slips his hand down to Peter's lap, pressing it against Peter's dick. Making it really obvious that yeah, he is hard, out of nowhere over nothing.

"I don't— what?" Peter says. "I'm not— there's nothing to notice? I mean..." He hesitates when Tony keeps staring at him, eyebrow raised. "Is that actually a thing?"

Tony tilts his head. "What, a hand feeding kink? Sure. I don't think it's that popular of one, but plenty of people like it." He reaches out and catches Peter's chin, turning Peter's face towards him. "Wait, you really didn't know?"

"I just thought— I don't know," Peter mumbles. "Like, I'm a teenager so I get hard at anything? Or maybe I just really like your lips, like, uh, oral fixation, right? How was I supposed to know feeding you is a kinky thing?"

"It doesn’t have to be," Tony says, watching him. “But you do like it?” and Peter can feel how he's starting blush.

"I— I guess so," Peter says and it's a little embarrassing to admit. It's pretty weird, right?

Tony rubs his thumb against Peter's bottom lip, soft. "Hmm," he says. "Something to think about."

Peter's not entirely sure he wants Tony to think about it. Or that he wants to think about it himself either.

*

Ignoring it turns out not to be an option, because Tony is really bad at ignoring things unless he wants to.

Peter knows this. He knows that if he really didn't want Tony to think about this whole food thing, he should have said so; Tony probably wouldn't have stopped thinking about it, but maybe he wouldn't have done anything. Like show up with a plate full of stuff and shove it at Peter.

"I'm hungry," he says. "And also I want to try something."

"Um, okay?" Peter says, taking it from him. It's all little stuff, or things cut up small, and he has a bad feeling about this.

Tony pauses. Leans down and tilts Peter's face up and kisses him, soft and sweet. "Something I think you'll enjoy," Tony says, "and hey, if you don't? It's no big deal."

"Alright," Peter says, a tiny bit less nervous. Tony's 'I want to try something's can be strange, but he has a pretty good track record of being right about finding things Peter will like.

He's still a little wary when Tony grabs a pillow and drops it in front of Peter and kneels on it, looking up at him. Tucks his hands behind his back and does— something, with his body that makes him look— not smaller, not scared; fuck, Peter doesn't know what it is, but it's soft. When Tony looks at him, it's that really focused intent gaze, the one where something is holding his full—his actual full—attention. And right now, Peter’s that something.

“You can spoil me a little,” Tony says, quieter, and he looks— almost nervous?

Peter picks up a cube of cheese and offers it Tony.

He doesn't know how he's ever going to be able to feed Tony anything after this without instantly getting hard, because the way Tony takes things from him this time makes it  _ dirty. _ It's not, not really; it's soft and sweet and a little soothing, but it still feels completely indecent.

Every bite has Tony's lips touching his fingers, brushing against them, kissing them. He presses forward when he takes something and lets Peter's fingers slip just inside his mouth, caught between his lips. Caught gently between his teeth sometimes, Tony leaning in and catching him before he can reach for the next bite, looking up at Peter through his eyelashes and Peter can't do anything but stare at him, trapped.

Tony licks at his fingers, even when there's no reason too, nothing left behind to clean up. Just presses his tongue against them, hot and soft, this teasing touch that makes Peter shiver, makes him want to slide his fingers into Tony's mouth and have Tony's tongue all over them. He doesn't, but he does run his fingers over Tony's lips, pressing gently at them, his thumb following the line of Tony's chin; Tony lets him, his eyes dark, and then presses his face into Peter's palm, nuzzling at him, his breath hot against Peter's hand.

They fall into that pattern, Tony mouthing at Peter's hand every few bites, soft and gentle and slowly getting more obscene, starting to lick between Peter's fingers, to nip at his skin and suck the tips of Peter's fingers into his mouth. There's some part of Peter's head that's almost angry at how much this is turning him on, how it's possible for these little touches of Tony's, to nothing more than his hand, have him so painfully hard. How watching Tony take another bite from his fingers, delicately, watching Peter the whole time, has him wanting to shove Tony down and kiss him until he can't breathe, for starters; he doesn't, because however weird it is, this is really working for him. He can't look away, can't stop how he's slowly been leaning forward, how it's drawing him up, tense, like he's just waiting for Tony to do something, for something to snap, breathing heavily like Tony is actually doing something to him besides kiss his palm and set his teeth against Peter's thumb and ask, with a little tilt of his head and a tongue darting out to wet his lips, for more, without a single word.

Tony is evil, because the last thing on the plate, the thing Peter's been avoiding a little, is a bowl of apple slices, half covered in caramel sauce. Peter stares at it, thinking of the way it might drip, the way the caramel might slide down his fingers and the way Tony might lick it up, and the next breath he takes is harsh, shaking. Tony doesn't say anything, but when Peter looks back to him, his mouth is already open, wanting.

It does drip down into the palm of his hand, the caramel slowly oozing down his fingers as Tony takes tiny, tiny bites, prolonging it, and Tony does lick it, his tongue flat against Peter's skin, rasping softly as it laps every drop up. Soft, as Tony sticks it between Peter's fingers, curls it around them as he goes after every last bit.

There are half a dozen of the things.

Each one is torture, and each one Peter wants to toss the rest aside and haul Tony up, and each one he manages not to, but his heart is pounding away in his chest. Tony's risen up on his knees, out of his settled position from earlier, edging closer and closer to Peter, his torso pressed up against Peter's knees, and Peter can feel that Tony's at least as hard as he is. Is breathing faster too, his arms tensing every now and then like he wants to pulls his hands out from behind his back and touch Peter, make him do something.

Tony takes the last bite, licks up the last drip from Peter's skin and there's a moment, a moment where Peter almost gives in, almost grabs at Tony. But— but there's still just a little sauce, stuck inside the bowl.

Tony groans softly when he sees what Peter is doing, running his finger along the side of the bowl. "Peter," he whispers, the first thing he's said since he knelt.

"Shh," Peter says, and this time he doesn't wait for Tony to lick him, pressing his fingers into Tony's mouth instead and leaving caramel sauce on his lips, Tony's tongue working around Peter's fingers. Peter wiggles them, strokes over the softness of Tony's mouth and can't help himself from pressing them in further, from slipping another in and watching Tony's eyes flutter closed, watching him suck on Peter's fingers, bobbing his head like he's sucking Peter's cock instead.

His fingers slide out of Tony's mouth with a pop, Tony's lips wet, shiny, and Peter half falls forward, grabbing Tony's hair and finally putting his mouth on Tony's, kissing him hard and open, messy, tasting caramel. Tony moans into his mouth, sliding in easily between Peter's legs when he parts them, and somehow— somehow, as good as Tony's mouth is on his cock, as fast as Peter comes down his throat before he yanks Tony up and sticks his hand down Tony's pants and listens to Tony muffle his noises against Peter's neck— somehow, it all still doesn't quite compare.

If this counts as spoiling Tony a little, Peter wants to spoil him rotten.


End file.
